Desperate Measures
by Haraya
Summary: In which Iceland is bitter, Norway is Kristoff, Finland plays host, Denmark ruins everything, and Sweden is forced to rise up and save the day. Nordic Five Sweden-centric. Oneshot. Complete. Christmas fic for Rin!


**Author's Note**: I AM SO SORRY WITH HOW LATE THIS IS OH MY FRIGGIN' GEE.

Rin, so sorry this took so long. As you've been able to witness for yourself, I've [been distracted as fvck by the shltyness of a lack of schedule in general] wanted it to be as near-perfect as possible and so worked hard on it with all my heart and soul, taking as much time as was needed until it was ready to lay down at your feet. This is about as cheesy fart with a little lemon; I hope it's to your liking and not too OOC…

I have this headcanon where the Nordics are all heavy drinkers to warm up in the nights but one drink past the number of shots they're used to taking and they get big time_ drunk _kind of drunk. (Denmark and Finland's how-many-shots-'til-you're-wasted rates are a good 2:1 compared to the others but they also drink fast so they all more or less lose their rational minds at the same time together) Also, I believe everyone who's forced to or are just good at retaining composure 24/7, countries included, go total OOC when really intoxicated so no character-portrayal bashing over one particular scene below please.

I used a few foreign words and phrases for this story but you could check out their definitions or explanations at the end. Oh, and the poem at the beginning's all mine.

Written for vanillaanais23 of **deviantart** for receiving all my feels and the slaps and squeals and seizures that go with it for yet another year of fangirling. A very late Merry Christmas, Rin! ('kay lol _DALI NA_ _AKIN NA YUNG DRAWING KO OMG_)

This fic is also for Rinoa-san (if she wants to take it) who introduced me to Hetalia four years ago and whose words keep helping me stay strong for so far the biggest hurdle of my life. _Salamuch_ a bunch! I'm cooking up something extra special just for you _maghintay ka lang, _heehee. ^w^

* * *

**Desperate Measures**

"This is nice," remarked Finland, not unexpectedly. "I'm glad we finally got around to doing this. Or causing for us to do this again."

"Yes," seconded Norway across him, a muted look of peace on his face. "It's good that he finally found time for us, and we for him. It _has _been a while since we did this."

"Yeah," chuckled Denmark. "Good old times." And he began to recite an old poem:

'_Round the fire, eating treats,  
Hugging pillows, wrapped in sheets  
On crossed legs or on our bellies  
Cuddling as we tell our stories  
Sleepless, we wait as night falls deep  
Outside, wind and snow rush like sheep  
But the fire's blithe and we've no fear:  
Father Christmas will soon be here._

"Oh! That right there!" Everyone turned to give Iceland a curious look, his cheery voice sounding almost alien to their ears. He blushed at their stares and averted his eyes. "I mean," he cleared his throat. "I thought we were missing something. Tradition-wise."

"Not really, Ice-kun," said Finland. "It's not tradition yet since Su-san only made that up the last time we waited, remember? But I think it should be," he hurriedly added as the said poet gave him a blank look that hid either burning rage or speechless sorrow behind a pale stretch of skin.

Austria may have started it all with his infamous cat but the unfortunate feline had absolutely nothing on the Lion of Scandinavia – and he didn't even need a box.

Because until Sweden started crying on them or ripped their throats off, the rest of the Five always had to expect the worse.

"I really think it should b-be a part of our tradition," repeated Finland, instinctively tightening the lock he had on his legs and raising Hanatamago on his lap so that she may serve him as a pity shield of sorts. Just in case. "Because if Ice-kun thinks it's necessary, I'm sure all of us feels the same way too! D-don't you, everyone?"

The three remaining Nordics led by Denmark expressed agreement. It _was_ a good poem – their favorite Christmas verses to be frank – and they didn't need an accidental corpse in their hands tonight. Iceland, sitting closest to Finland on his right, prepared to yank the shorter man out of harm's way. It seemed forever before Sweden gave a little nod and turned away to take a sip of his coffee with what they wagered was a flattered blush, cuing a chorus of soft exhales.

For it was also a part of tradition for their tallest member to be more emotional – or perhaps, just more expressive – from the commencement of their Christmas eve dinner to the next 24 hours each year. Nobody could decide if this was a blessing or a curse, but they did know this stemmed from the days their grandfather used to praise Sweden's innate skill in toy making – particularly, the wood carving part – so that he tended to be more confident, more assured that his precious people were going to appreciate him and his actions on Christmas day and the night before.

But this awkward fact set aside, there was nothing else in their minds at the moment but contentment in each others' company. They were sitting closer to each other than usual yet more comfortable than their pride would ever allow them admit, all in their thickest pajamas and woolen socks, at the heads of their sleeping bags arranged like five rays around the sun of Finland's cozy living room. Beneath several layers of their thickest seasonal sweaters were stomachs pleasantly stretched from a full course Finnish traditional Christmas eve dinner – the same Santa Claus eats before going out into the world – and now they were merely loafing, talking while sipping coffee or hot chocolate and munching on cookies, candies, and other small edibles at a leisurely pace. The lights were all off and, to make it more nostalgic, so were the heaters, which hadn't yet been invented the last time they'd gathered by the hearth on Christmas eve. The only things to aid their visions were the large fire in front of them and, hardly seen through the orange glow at the hearth, the much dimmer electric light out at the front porch to welcome Santa when he comes. It was nowhere near his old workshop, where they used to help make his toys as children for a month and then receive theirs at midnight on the twenty-fifth, but everyone agreed Finland's house (specifically the northern wing closest to the mountain where the gift giver used to live himself) was the next best thing.

"Well," uttered Norway. The rest give him their whole attention; it was rare, even during these sacred twenty-four hours a year that the stoic man should be the first to break the silence. "We're having Grandfather over in a few hours," he continued, small sparks dancing in his dull blue eyes. "What's the plan?"

"We'll make him the breakfast he'd leave for us on Christmas morning as kids," Finland enthused; his friends' mouths automatically watered over the savory memories. His ice blue eyes seemed to gleam brighter in the firelight, not unlike a glacier in the winter sun. "Buttered porridge, rolls, sweet bread, open sandwiches, cinnamon rolls – Su-san and I've already shopped for the ingredients. We'll get up at five to bake the breads then cook up, and we could milk my reindeers while waiting for the baking to finish. There's plenty of different kinds of spreads and hot drinks in the pantry so we're all completely good to go and ready when he arrives!"

Even though he acted like an adult the most out of the five, Finland was a mere child once the month of December neared and came, adorning his house with lavish decorations before any of the other nations even planned of doing so, childishly waltzing through his house to carols resonating from the radio whenever he was sure no one was looking, dressing up as Santa Claus himself and going around his lands to bring gifts and magic his younger peoples – all especially more so this year. For it was in these halls and rooms, scourged of any imperfections the day before, that celebrating Christmas originated, and the fact that that celebration's father himself was finally coming back home to his grandchildren after so long a time beneath the very roof where Finland slept – ah, it was enough to make the short man cry from the honor and joy of it all.

"This time, we aren't sleeping, though," Norway said now, nodding at the silver pot of coffee Sweden had provided, standing tall and tempting on the round tray at their center. He smiled at like it was a bottle of long-forgotten sweet dreams. "Remember when we said that every year and failed each time?"

"Yup!" Denmark attested. "And we'd always fall asleep starting with the youngest, then the oldest," (Sweden opened his mouth to say he fell asleep before the wild-haired man the last time they waited but the shorter man, sensing what he was about to do, naturally overrode him) "then in random order after that."

"I don't remember that happening," muttered Iceland.

"That's 'cause you were already asleep, silly!" jested Denmark.

"Yes," Norway told his brother. Even the regularly solemn man was not immune (not that he wanted to be) to the secret power of that evening, making the tender, nurturing look on his face reserved for Iceland alone more pronounced as he gazed at his sibling. "And always on my shoulder, every single year. Then I'd lay you on my lap until I got sleepy myself, and we'd sleep side by side on our sleeping bags."

Like with Sweden, Christmas for Norway was a chance to be more expressive, though the younger man was more inclined to put across affection for his family instead of probing for some. Tonight and tomorrow were a birthday party for love after all – this was how his grandfather first explained what the holiday was to him centuries ago, when he'd finished preparing and harnessing the reindeers as practice for that year's Christmas eve all by himself and commemorated the accomplishment with some gingersnapson Santa's lap.

"Grandfather would always remind us to look after one another, especially during those last years before the wars got too bad," Norway reminded them quietly. "but when he realized you were closer to me than anyone else," (here, the shadows over his face vanished and light took its place as he looked back at Iceland) "he specifically instructed me to take special care of you. Remember how you used to call me 'oniichan' back th-?"

"If you're trying to patronize me into doing it now, it isn't working," Iceland recited like it was the one thing he was born to do, looking like he was about to explode with embarrassment judging by the color in his pale cheeks, eyes setting the carpet on fire.

Norway looked nothing short of desperate. "Little brother, it's Christmas-"

"No."

A short silence.

"But-"

"_No_."

"Okay."

Their three friends fought back fond grins at the brothers' exchange, Iceland's red, embarrassed expression, and Norway's almost childishly crestfallen one.

"Anyways, I can't wait for Grandfather," declared Iceland to distract them. "It's been nearly a thousand years, isn't it? It'll be like a grand family reunion." Purplish orbs went glazed from nostalgia as white hands kept Mr. Puffin close to his owner, stroking the bird's soft feathers with absentminded fondness. "It's too bad none of us are small enough to still sit on his lap anymore… but I'm glad we're big enough to be the ones to make him breakfast this time."

Everyone smiled at their youngest comrade's glowing face, soft violet circles shining at something nobody else could see on the ground. Seeing "their old man" as Denmark lovingly called him, was important to each of them in the same inexplainable way seeing the stars after a year of endless rain is important to one who'd been forced to endure it, but everyone knew their mysterious-haired boy had starved for their grandfather's affections the most and was to whom this whole night's purpose is as crucial as sunlight on the earth.

Iceland was the youngest, after all, not just in age, but in also in heart.

"I can't wait for Grandfather," Iceland repeated, face steadily falling. "only…"

His older peers' expressions dropped too as his embrace on Mr. Puffin slackened so that the bird was free to waddle off and share Hanatamago's small hot chocolate dish Finland had prepared a few minutes ago.

"Only what, Ice-kun?" Finland asked a little nervously.

The frosty-haired man's face went heated. "Only that hamburger-loving bastard's changed him, and now he gives _his_ kids their gifts first and foremost on Christmas Eve, is as fat as sin over _his_ junk and is very possibly diabetic at that, has a plastic toy factory run by China and his minions dressed as elves, and is a mascot for that darned soft drinks company. Correct?" spat Iceland in one breath.

"W-well," Finland stuttered after a moment's silence, surprised along with everyone else over comrade's passionate outburst. "He didn't exactly sound like that on the phone when we got to talk, but I guess it's… true?"

"Looks like somebody doesn't like sharing his blessings," observed Norway, the ghost of amusement hovering over his features.

"Not if they're corrupted by some money-making cola addict!" burst Iceland. "It's all _his_ fault we couldn't contact him all these years, forcing him to move to the North Pole for 'convenience', whatever the hell that means, when his home is here in Fin's lands!"

Everyone just stifled their giggles or entertained smiles, much to his embarrassment. Iceland opened his mouth to protest, faltered, then turned away to watch Mr. Puffin and Hanatamago with red cheeks, who were frolicking in the small pile of discarded gift wrappers that had half an hour ago hidden their gifts to one another. "America's a bastard," he muttered simply and with feeling.

"Well, I wouldn't say that," placated Finland as Denmark snickered into a palm and Sweden shook his head with a smirk no one saw. "Ameri-san's just a little… er, _overexcited_ over the concept of Santa Claus and, well, he loses control over himself quite easily, so…"

"He's never had a father figure save for England," said Norway, inconspicuously laying a hand Iceland's left shoulder. "If _he_ were my big brother, I'd look for someone else too, don't you think?"

They all let out a few snickers at this, even Iceland cracked out a smile.

"Don't fret, Ice! I doubt there's anything we could do about it, but no matter what sort of commercialization he goes through, I'm sure Grandpa'll remain true to his core," Denmark assured him, reaching out to clap the shorter man on the back. "And if knowing that ain't enough, I know just the thing to cheer you up!"

He reached behind him and plunged a hand into his sleeping bag; the others stretch their necks curiously. When a large dark glass bottle that still smelled faintly of Finland's cellar resurfaced with it, they all breathed in at once to fire the bearer with protests.

"Come on, don't give me those looks!" Denmark exclaimed with an impish smile. Like in any other festive occasion, Denmark saw Christmas as a chance to be nothing _but _festive: just like Santa Claus was on this very night. It was the trait Denmark associated most with his grandfather, his undying cheeriness in the face of any situation, and though he actively sought and enjoyed any situation to remember and honor the old man, this night and approaching day of joy was still his favorite time to make form the best memories. "It's _Christmas_, gods' sake. We should be celebrating like the adults we are!"

"Nothing's wrong with a little drink," countered Iceland, eying the corked wine bottle like it could either be the death of him or his ticket to heaven. "What we're feeling uneasy over is the fact that you're the one initiating this session."

"Oh, but don't I always?" Denmark asked slyly, already working away at the cork. "And aren't all the drinking sessions we've ever had together the best 'cause I'm a part of it?"

They just stared at him in silence.

"Hold up." Denmark halted all attempts in opening the bottle, looking up at them in astonishment and _just _a little bit of hurt. "You guys have drinking nights _without me_!?"

"You're persuasive, Ta-san!" defended Finland holding up his two palms to face the prosecutor. "Remember that incident we had with Japan-san, when we had to rush him over to Estonia's place for- what was it again?"

"Mango pie," answered Sweden, a grim shadow falling over his face.

"Yes, mango pie of all possible things because of… reasons?" Finland finished as everyone around him suppressed shivers. "It's hard to stop when you're with us, Ta-san – _really_ hard to stop – and for the sake of our peoples, we can't go too far when it comes to drinking…"

Overcoming those shadowy memories, Denmark surveyed them a little more with a raised eyebrows until his gaze landed on Norway and a smug _I've got you all now, _smile overtook his face. "Well, sheesh," he sighed dramatically. "Svergie, Finny, and Ice. I'm ashamed of you three for forgetting all about Norgie-Porgie Puddin' Pie over here."

"What about me?" asked the person in question, looking as close as he could possibly get to being alarmed. "And I told you to stop calling me that." He blinked then narrowed his eyes at his friend. "If you're challenging me to a drinking contest, Anko, you know I'm perfectly incapable of beating you, so if you just want to have a laugh-"

"I was talking about your trolls subduing me if things go too far, dammit!" Denmark cried. He threw exasperated looks and something that was almost pity all around. "Geez, doesn't anyone know how to lighten up here? Look, just one bottle of this stuff to loosen those sticks up your butts. And then that's it. We'll spend the rest of the night just talking and goofing around then go to sleep if we can't take it anymore. Besides, we're cooking Father Christmas of all people breakfast five sharp tomorrow. There is no way in the name of everything awesome that I'm getting any of us busted tonight – at least, not busted enough to wish they were dead tomorrow morning."

Everyone gave him _Yeah, right, _looks with varying degrees of intensity.

"Oh, come on!" he whined. "A little fun every now and then wouldn't kill us, guys. Well if I can't convince you," he hurried on before any of them had a chance to open their mouths, "I suggest we take a vote. Majority wins, so let's know what Svergie wants first, since he and Finny are a single-minded couple."

"We are _not _a single-minded couple!" a red-faced Finland shrieked, but no one paid him heed; all eyes were on Sweden who was _this _close to looking embarrassingly pleased.

The bespectacled man pulled on a pondering face, looking serious as he weighed the options. Finally, he shrugged. "It is Christmas. A little nip wouldn't hurt."

"Good boy!" cheered Denmark, a hand flying forward to rumple Sweden's hair, the other diving into the pocket of his pajamas. "A bottle of Finland's finest Christmas wine then!" After some seconds of struggle, the bottle's stubborn cork flew in the general direction of the kitchen and Hanatamago and Mr. Puffin immediately gave chase.

"I swear, Anko, if we aren't in proper condition to meet him tomorrow…" Norway muttered, robbing Denmark of the sopping wet handkerchief in his hand and using it to mop up the spilled wine it had failed to absorb on the carpet.

"Then you'll just have to kill me in the most brutal way possible," Denmark cheerfully suggested, shooting a full mug beneath younger man's nose and letting go as Norway started to scold him, prompting the shorter blonde to instinctively catch it and shut up before saying anything. Iceland mumbled a reprimand for his brother's best friend but was overpowered by Sweden suddenly saying, "Let's do the hot chocolate game."

Four slightly smaller faces turned to stare at his serious one, and the tallest of their bunch was quickest to crack the code. "Of course! Only this time, we'll use this wine, Svergie!" Denmark concurred amidst exclamations of remembrance, and he proceeded to remind them of the rules. "Everyone of us will make a toast – like, 'Here's to staying together forever,' or something equally cheesy like that – and for each toast, we'll take a sip of wine instead of hot cocoa like we used to until our mug's out. Cheats caught taking too much in one turn and the first one to run out of ideas for a toast divides his drink among the other players until only one is left. The winner gets to finish the rest of the bottle that hadn't been used for refills and takes a full one home for himself-"

"That's not a part of the original rules," Sweden contradicted, feeling bold as Finland took a long sniff of his full mug beside him.

"Then we'll just have to stick to 'em," said Denmark smoothly, pouring himself a drink at last. "and the winner will have a whole tea pot's worth of chocolate- I mean one whole bottle for himself to drink and share with whoever he wants whenever the hell he wants, which sorta translates to the moment he gets it-"

"_Anko_," Norway growled half-heartedly. But that went by ignored as his own eyes slipped to the side to join in on the others' beseeching Finland for permission anyway, the short man being in charge of their alcohol regulations in general. Each cold, flushed face wordlessly begged for him to accede to Denmark's request, and he was having a hard time denying them of what he hoped would be a harmless good time.

"Well… okay," their moderator gave in with a slight shrug. "But," he put on what he hoped was a face the others would take seriously. "no more than one bottle as a prize, okay?"

* * *

"…and that's why Mr. Puffin is Princess Anna. Logic, _dum hoveder_!" Denmark screeched, laughing over his god-knows-how-many-th full glass. Sweden made a noise akin to a whimper nobody heard and increased the pressure of his two longest fingers and thumb over closed reddened eyes that burned in their sockets.

"Noisy drunkard," commented Norway, eyes glazed, face furled, taking another set of gulps of his _Akkevit_. "No one's even contradicting you, Anko. But," he lowered his red face to stifle a small burp. "if we're going there, I say_ Iceland _should be Anna since I'm the older sibling-"

Iceland, teetering over the edge of consciousness, dragged himself back up viciously, ripping his lips from the mouth of the glass in his slack grip as he dangerously hissed, "_Would you stop rubbing it in?!_"

"Hell no, snarky bastard," protested a half-drunk Mr. Puffin, teetering in the middle of their angled semicircle. "_I _get to be Anna, 'cause Ice Queen here ain't older than any of you." He lapped up the last drop from the freshest puddle of _Brennivin_ his owner had so generously provided him hours – or was it mere seconds? – ago. "Damn straight," he declared. "I'm cuter than Elsland." He flopped down ungracefully and moved no more, causing Denmark to guffaw and pour mulled wine around his glass instead of into it. Finland was quick to cradle the snoozing bird in his arms, gently place its chest against an ear, then unceremoniously fling it into the sky blue sleeping bag behind him.

"_Salmiakki_," he muttered, bowing slowly until he was a perfectly straight worm on the thick carpet, groping for the bowl that held his favorite sweets with a shaky hand and unseeing eyes. Iceland handed him a dead fresh mackerel no one remembers providing with a solemn "Take her. With my blessing."

"S'been so looooooong," Denmark sang, grabbing a handful of winegums scattered on the rumpled carpet and stuffing each into a newly opened bottle of _glogg_ with surprising precision, the shards of his shattered shot glass forgotten and melting in the fireplace. As the final piece of candy fell in with a barely audible _splish_, he blocked the bottle's mouth with a palm and began to shake the container. "So long since our last drinkin' parteh that even _I'm _stoned. And I've only had, like, seventy zhats'r somethin'! "

"_Huvud, axlar, knän och tår, knän och tår,_" Sweden mumbled, squeezing folded legs with his arms to his chest and rocking slowly, but his chants were drowned by Denmark's wailed string of curses directed at the candies that blocked the flow of his drink to his mouth. "_Heeeeead, shoulders, kneezentoes, kneezentoooooes…_"

Meanwhile, Hanatamago was having an argument with Norway.

"…just because of my name?!" the only girl of the house was whining. "That is so unfair, Ta-san!" No one found it strange that the dog was talking; everyone had all but forgotten how she revealed that her master's speaking ability had long ago rubbed off on her earlier that night (much to nobody's drunken surprise), explaining that she had only been keeping silent to protect their sanities. When Mr. Puffin dragged out the query as to why the heck'n hell was she speakin' to them then, dumb _hic_ dog, she calmly replied that none of them were probably going to remember this in the morning anyway.

"You can blame your master for that!" Norway half-shouted in reply to her complaint, still working on dragging a floored Iceland onto his quilt-covered lap, who was utterly smashed and mumbling something about letting one thing or another go.

"But I'm not a boy," Hanatamago yipped above Norway's bellowed threats to melt Iceland down to the ground if the sleeping man did nothing to help him (Norway) lift his (Iceland's) ass up anytime soon, _faen_. "I'm not even ginger! And I'm definitely _not _evil either!"

Finland, having finally found the now empty holder of the core of his quest, withdrew back to the cushion at the head of his sleeping bag and sighed, deeply and melancholically, before slowly placing his pillow on his lap to hug as he stared into space. When his dog started speaking to an ever-cursing Norway about sandwiches and open doors, the amethyst-eyed man gently placed the wooden bowl upside down on his pet's head. "Hush, Charlotte," he mumbled like it was the most depressing activity in the world. "You'll awake the goats of Yuletide." And then he returned to sighing at the fire like it contained someone much loved and dead.

"Shoesheehishben!" Denmark bellowed, mouth bursting with nougats. He choked on the half-chewed sugary mush but quickly solved the problem by drowning it in alcohol. "Susie is Sveeeeen!" he crowed after exhaling, cackling like a witch as he tried embracing the tallest man in the room, who deftly headbutted him towards shortest, who in turn deftly headbutted him towards the floor.

"And who the hell is Susie," came a half-hearted mumble from the lump at the end of Finland's sleeping bag. "I'm cuter than she is."

"Sweden, of course!" was the answer, the cold, dead mackerel Denmark had pressed against the throbbing knot on his forehead dancing to his giggles. "Ya know: Sweden, Sve-san, Swe-san, Su-san, _Su_san, Susie. The works." He belched, long and loud as Sweden fell over his sleeping bag, still curled up in a tight ball and eliciting a whine that perfectly matched those of a whistling kettle's. "Go ask Fishland over there for more details!" Denmark encouraged the unlit chandelier above their heads.

"This is madness," declared Hanatamago, extracting her fluffy white head from her makeshift helmet and looking round at everyone. "I've always been curious of what it's like to get drunk, but I don't think I'd want to experience _this_ ever."

"_Pá mér klær, þarf ég að klóra mér,_" Iceland gurgled in his sleep, head sagging on his wobbling brother's shoulder. "My butt needs now…"

"Damn it, Iceland!" yelled a red-faced Norway as the shorter man fell from his left arm's grasp over onto his crossed legs. Grumbling, he lifted his brother's fair head to his chest, yanking the blanket on his lap off with his other hand to bury Iceland with. "If you _hic _weren't my little brother… fool." He finished the remaining half of his drink in one go to the drone of Sweden's continuous high-pitched whimpers before making a gasped proclamation: "I'll be Kristoff. Kristoff!" he yelled like a king. "'Cause I got a whole family of trolls-!"

"And need an upper-fixing every damn time," Denmark finished with his face against the floor.

"Yeah, that," Norway slurred, eyelids drooping, blue eyes crossing. "Most definitely that… Anko…" He hiccupped savagely and pressed a hand over his eyes to calm his dizziness. A hooded-eyed Finland nodded sagely at the previous speaker, trembling hands supporting a large tankard of _glogg_ and arms still locked around his pillow.

"Yes," he whispered, carefully swirling his drink around with a fuchsia pink curly straw. "And you shall be Olaf for all the talk that you make, Tanska-san."

"**NO.**"

Whatever sober consciousness the three conversing men had left within them were violently jerked into overdrive as they faced the source of the monstrous monosyllable, breathing automatically stilled and limbs poised to run.

"Su- Su-san," stammered Finland, too frozen in fear to even inch a little to his left, slightly further away from the giant bearing down on them even while seated. "Did we- did we say something wrong?"

Sweden said nothing, only stared at him and Norway with unnerving intensity, closed mouth working viciously on a single piece of _knack_. When he latched the sweet between his teeth and effortlessly split it in half with a resounding _crack_, the two objects of his attention and Denmark flinched so hard their bodies nearly completely left the carpet.

"Only Finland's allowed to ride me," Sweden rumbled, deep and slow, glasses glinting dangerously in the firelight. "So he'll be Kristoff." And he said nothing more, teal, slightly out of focus eyes boring very real-feeling holes into each of the three other conscious men's souls.

One infinity into the stunned silence, Iceland snorted in his sleep. "Oniichan is love, Oniichan is life, but mostly he's warmth and home and all that shit…" No one paid him attention.

"Okay!" Denmark shrieked out of the blue an age later. "Finland will be Kristoff… and I'll be Olaf!" He laughed in a way that suggested he was either seconds away from pissing his pants in total fear or passing out from total intoxication. Sweden fainted sideways after this, enforcing a sigh of relief on all of them, and none of the remaining two drinkers could be sure by the way his exhale turned into retches, then into a laughing fit, then into immediate snores if Denmark had been being drunk or not.

* * *

When Sweden came to himself what felt like several centuries later, something heavy throbbed with vigor in his head, and his whole body felt wooden, sparks of dull ache shooting through every vein at unpredictable intervals. His throat felt so dry, he doubted he could manage a groan. He couldn't.

_Min Gud… _He felt like he physically died in a brutal way that involved jackhammers, butcher knives, acid vats and needles while he was sleeping, and his consciousness had chosen now of all times returned to savor the full force of… whatever this wicked form of punishment was. If fresh memories of terrors squeezed at his heart and mind at that very moment, he would have believed you if you told him he'd just come back from a lost war.

The fire somewhere to his right was dying, and its colors danced dizzyingly far above his spread eyelids. Silence, which he perceived as an unbearable din, laced the frost-tinged air along with the occasional whispers of sleepy snuffles and thickly-clothed bodies rubbing against thin walls of wool, all coming to him muffled and slow. His perception stretching itself against his will, Sweden realized he was deep within his sleeping bag, his blanket wrapped around him, its warm touch ending beneath his nose. He felt oddly awake even though he wanted nothing more than to drift back into oblivion and escape this miniature hell – he felt like he wasn't _supposed _to be in the state he was in but didn't know why.

_Finland,_ he thought, swearing he heard his eyelids creak as they drew upward in panic. _Where is my wife?_

He turned away from the flickerings on the ceiling, the muscles of his neck screaming in protest, but all that met his sight were several shapeless blobs of color that blurred at the edges, each blanketed with varying shades of orange and black. His tongue managed to snap against the roof of his mouth in frustration once the protest of inertia swirled down to a stop before him: he needed his glasses.

Wondering how he was even going to start looking, he blinked in annoyance and slight panic, the banging in his head trespassing aching into agonizing. Hoping to distract himself from the pain, he opened his eyes again and was surprised to see four fuzzy aliens facing him. He blocked out the world, let it fall before two blue-green spheres, closed up again, and repeated the process until his wife's slumbering form came through to him clear though dim: he had fallen asleep wearing his spectacles.

Relieved enough to ignore how singed his eyes felt, Sweden determinedly surveyed Finland in the half-light. The host of the house's unconscious head faced the sky, a collection of spittle hovering at the edge of his parted lips, cold-kissed ruddy cheeks complimenting his silvery blonde hair. His sleeping bag was fully open and horizontally wrapped tight around his upper half, starting from the neck down to a little below his hips as multiple blankets streamed elegantly down to cover his feet. A little stupidly, Sweden thought his spouse overall looked like a merpillar with a human head in a Santa Claus hat.

He looked nothing short of ridiculous but very beautifully so.

So Finland was unharmed and fine… Sweden heaved out a sigh of relief. As long as the love of his life was alright, everything else will follow suit. Even now, he felt his aching body relax, adrenaline creeping from his limbs and back from where they came from. Surely now sleep would fail to avoid being within his reach…

But no. No matter how hard he closed his eyes, no matter what reassuring thought he let reel in his mind, he was awake, wide awake and nightmarishly so. He lay there for what felt like centuries but nothing new occurred save for the fact that the invisible weights wrapping around every cell of his body steadily tightened their hold each passing minute. There was nothing else to do but numb the pain the best he could, by drinking ice water that was miles away from him in the kitchen.

Sweden thought of the onslaught of pain that slammed down on him at even the tiniest flicker of the smallest muscle in his body and choked down a whimper. Everything had to get worse before they got better.

By some miracle, he managed to get up without his limbs or his stomach crumpling to pieces. He heaved oxygen in desperately; it did little against the whirlwind that took over his senses. When the chaos became bearable enough, he sluggishly pushed off his knees and straightened with his features screwed shut, legs slightly apart. There, the universe didn't squirm as much when he opened his eyes again. As long as he didn't rush things, perhaps he could make it…

Denmark's slippered feet were in place of his head at his resting place's opening, his usually cantankerous snores coming out muffled and unsure. Sweden had to look thrice before successfully comprehending the sight below him, and now he could only wonder how the tousled-haired blonde managed to keep breathing in such a state. Vaguely hoping his "best bud's" unconscious systems wouldn't suddenly forget how to pull off the feat, Sweden braced himself, preparing his whole self to turn to the direction of Finland's kitchen when the so far constant drone of troubled breathing filling the air around him hitched.

Sweden tried hard, tried so hard to ignore how Denmark wasn't getting in oxygen properly and fast enough, tried so hard to focus on the illusion that he would be able to save him right after he had his glass of cure, but the shifting of the figure inside the sleeping bag would not allow it. _Bra gud_, what did Sweden do to deserve such torture…

He bent over but the world wanted to have a laugh and followed suit and he would have found himself in a heap with Denmark if his thighs hadn't suddenly decided to lean back so that he was crouched over the man instead – dizzy, but at least in a much better position than sprawled on top of his friend. He managed to groan this time as his stomach lurched upward and hell assaulted his senses once more, but the roughly slumbering man's labored snuffles seemed louder than the pounding in Sweden's ears, coaxing him to speed up his recovery. They were, curiously enough, successful, and after five minutes of inching along, fumbling with the sleeping bag's zipper and a generous amount of short breaks to force the world into a standstill in between, Sweden managed to open the bag and free Denmark of his prison, who, in unconscious gratitude, started snoring smoothly.

The sleepless man rose again, head spinning and proud with what he had done. But now the inconsiderate bastard had to go and curl into a ball and shiver: he was, for some reason, in nothing but his thick socks, thick pajamas, a red fur nightcap lined with white, and what had to be his oldest, flimsiest, most worn and thinnest sweater – almost nothing against a -20 degrees Finnish winter's night.

The poor, helpless thing was going to die from the cold if his "fave mate" did nothing, whispered a light, rough-ish voice at the back of Sweden's head that sounded annoyingly familiar. So all he had to do was turn around, take three step forward, bend over and pick his blanket and sleeping bag up from the ground, straighten up, turn around again, walk another three steps without falling down, open the sleeping bag and drape it and the blanket over Denmark's perfectly rested figure. Great.

Twice Sweden had to swallow back his own puke before at last succeeding in rescuing a dying Denmark (so insisted that voice in his head with a persistence that drove him crazy) and he turned away from the shorter man, lest he did something stupid, like giving his grinning, drooling face a good, _light_ stomp. Upon inspection, his two other family members he hadn't encountered yet thankfully provided him no trouble in getting to the door… he only had to go take an extra eight dizzying steps around them to return to his chosen pathway. This time, he actually fell over on the way, forward, knees first but thankfully not over the slumbering siblings, and he lay on the cold floor out of breath and fuming until the fire was nothing but a mere glow on the embers that was halfway through dying.

When he got up again, he had a clear view of the culprits that had caused him his troubles; the sight that met his eyes gently forced him stay and stare. Norway and Iceland's sleeping bags were spread open side by side beneath them, a thick quilt hiding all but their peaceful expressions, their tilted, nightcap-covered heads lightly touching by the upper corners. Sweden felt oddly reassured over something he couldn't fathom at the sight; he was quite sure, however, that the alcohol had nothing to do with the unclassified sensations in his chest.

His stomach and the world jerked in random directions, reminding him all too painfully of the task he had at hand. Sweden almost screamed out a hallelujah once he finally picked his way past the two, but the world was quite obviously against him that night, for seated firmly at the door as steady and seemingly unmovable as an oddly shaped protrusion of the earth was Hanatamago.

"Good early in the morning, Su-sama," she greeted him with seemingly strained cheer when their eyes met. "Are you still hungover out of your mind, sir?"

It vaguely occurred to Sweden that perhaps he should be alarmed that his and Finland's dog was speaking. "Yes."

"Oh good," was the immediate, rather relieved reply. "I just found I like talking, you see, sir. I didn't want to stop anytime soon." She gave the room a once-over as if looking for a place to escape from him. "Do you, er… have a question, sir?"

He had just saved the cause of all his current misery from dying, the siblings snoozing behind him were behaving like they were siblings for once and now his wife's dog was having a perfectly normal conversation with him. Against all the odds, Sweden found himself deciding that the phenomena unfolding before his eyes at this very moment was what he found to be the scariest, most bizarre one of the lot: he still hadn't reached his glass of ice-cold water. And Hanatamago – well, she was certainly something to consider as of the moment; she was in his way and seemed to have no intention on leaving. She might be possessed for all he knew, what with the way she was talking, but he really wasn't in the mood to perform any kind of activity akin to exorcism. Anyway, if there was a demon handling her, he had no intention to make enemies now, certainly not in his current estate. He decided he might as well humor her the best he could until he somehow found that full, frosty-cold glass between his palm and fingers and lips. "What… time is it?"

"About four in the morning, sir," was the instant answer.

Four. Four. That hour rang a bell in him. After four came five and at five, they were supposed to be doing something…

And suddenly, Sweden remembered everything and on remembering everything, he reached a dire conclusion: his cold glass of water could most definitely wait for him this time. "Help me wake them up," he told his dog, breathing deep to prepare his body for the taxing process of turning around and walking a few steps forward. "They need to recover before we start making breakfast. Grandfather will be here soon. "

Her expression – Sweden had always thought that out of all the dogs he had ever seen, Hanatamago was the only one who, although lacking in human features, was able to create faces that made you believe she could convey her emotions understandably – fell. "Santa's already been here, sir," she mumbled as if guilty. "He left about… oh, more or less twenty hours ago, sir."

The last of the fire crackled down to nonbeing and darkness made itself comfortable, avoiding only the places the setting moon shone down upon. When at last the processing part of his brain caught up to what the dog had said, Sweden needed to slowly blink twice before it provided him with a discernable reaction.

"What?" he asked out loud.

If it was possible, the dog's pitiful expression worsened. "It's been a whole day since you've all passed out, sir," she mumbled, not looking her master in the eye. "We tried waking you up, Santa and I, but none of you could be budged. Actually, you all woke up a few hours after lunchtime, but your hangovers were so bad that only the other countries' gifts had a relatively small effect on the… well, lousiness. So you drank them all up, sir."

"Other countries'… gifts?"

"Exotic booze from all over the world," she nodded, encouraging him away from the original topic. "Altogether you managed to finish all of it up in an hour save for just one. You probably don't remember any of that now, though, sir."

Sweden had a fleeting vision of crawling into kneedeep snow with Finland balancing on his back to the sound Iceland's tongue-stuck-on-a-lamppost shrieks and Denmark running around stark naked in zero degrees just to prove to Norway, yodeling out his outrage over life in general from atop the said lamppost Iceland was wailing from, that he can. No, he remembered nothing of their latest drinking session at all. "And?" he asked, already fearing her answer.

"You all passed out again sir," Hanatamago continued. "And I cleaned the mess up. Well, I saved some for Mr. Puffin for when he woke up, but he only ended up adding to it. He's resting off his hangover in one of the guest rooms now."

Sweden's head hurt from the information but it somehow managed to let all the unnecessary details fall away into oblivion until there was just one thing on his mind. "But…" he insisted weakly, against what, he didn't know. "Grandfather."

"Don't worry, sir," the dog said at once; she looked like she had been waiting all her life to tell him what she was going to say next. "I made sure he got all your presents and I told him of how you missed him. He says thank you very much," she paused to let the sink in, having a good idea of just how important yesterday morning would have been for the five, "and he's looking forward to _really _seeing you five next time."

Next time… next time… And when was next time exactly? A decade? A century? Somehow, Sweden found himself remembering the last year they waited to welcome their boss back from a trip, when he was young enough to believe that if he wished for something hard enough, it would come true, cleanly and easily as snow falling out of the sky.

He'd always been relieved that his difficult childhood had long ended but he'd never quite felt the need to be as innocent as he could get now. "But… _Grandfather,_" he protested against the world. An all too familiar sensation like a lump of burning oil crawled up his throat in a torturous pace as his lungs constricted in his chest.

Hanatamago pattered up to him slowly and stood against his right leg to lick his fingers, the highest she could reach on hind legs. "Don't worry, Su-sama," she pulled back when she received no reaction. "There's always a next time. He _promised_ he'd be here next… time." She wove in and out of his lower legs, pressing against her second master the best she could in an attempt to comfort him. When that still did nothing, she withdrew and bantered, "Well, you could always clobber Ta-san when he wakes up, sir." Silence. "Just joking, sir. You might accidentally kill him." Still nothing.

"Santa put some water in the fridge for the five of you, sir," she informed him instead, realizing it would be a while before the likes of her could do anything to change anything about him. "I'd get it for you if I could." She hovered around him for a little longer before walking away at last. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll leave you to it then. By the way," she added by the door, turning back to look at him. "this is just a hangover-induced delusion, sir. I'm not actually talking. I don't even know how to. I'm just a dog, after all. See, I'm barking again, _hau, hau, hau_!" And she padded off, her fluffy white tail in the air.

Sweden just stood there unseeing, the violence in his head settling down into a slow and dismal ache that matched the one seething in his heart. Slowly, he rose his hand up to his hair and slid off the item of clothing he found there, the one that everybody else was currently wearing: an ancient triangular hat made of reindeer fur, dyed with an everlasting shade of holly red, the opening lined with an extra strip of white fur for extra warmth, and a little tuft of the same stuff at its tip. The last present Santa ever gave them before disappearing from their lives until yesterday, when they were all too lost within themselves to be conscious while it happened.

He wanted to cry. God, how he wanted to cry.

A shrill whine escaped the tight confines of his clenched teeth and he hid his eyes behind a hand. On the year they found they could no longer locate the cottage on top of Mt. Korvantuntori (even if it was already the first of December and they still thought of themselves as children), they initiated the Waiting at Finland's house, a lot more nervous than they were awkward with one another. The next day, there was nothing in their stockings nor the space beneath the tree, but under their pillows were Santa Claus hats that fit the names sewn within the white lining perfectly when worn and, on top of the hearth, a slip of paper that reduced them all to tears. A note that explained they were no longer children, but they would always be _his _grandchildren, a note that wished them courage and strength for the years ahead, a note that hoped that the hats just like his would remind them to spread love and joy to others no matter where life took them, no matter how likely it was that they would never see each other again.

Flash forward to the present, after other countries laying claim on the legendary giver and his horrific modernization, after a still-disconsolate Iceland finally found it himself to forgive and forget, after years of trying to contact the old man in red. Everyone was present when Finland had burst into his living room with the news that he'd just been on the phone with Santa (who still had at that time 14 million children left to sort into his naughty or nice list so that Finland hadn't been able to call the others to say hi).

"I've actually been asking around during the last world meeting and Germany-san said he forced it out of Prussia-san some time ago for Italy-kun," Finland had told them hurriedly, _it _being the top secret, one and only telephone number of the North Pole they'd been searching so long for. "He was willing to give it to us, and so I gave it a try-"

"What are we talking about exactly?" Norway had interrupted.

"-and now, we're going to have Grandfather over for Christmas!"

For a few seconds, everything had been still. Then the explosion came and for several minutes, it had been nothing but upturned furniture, mindless hopping around and dancing, and equally heedless shouts and squeals of congratulations through several uninhibited tears of joy.

"But how come he's never contacted us before?" Denmark had asked a little sourly after their jubilation died down enough for questions.

"Population boom," Sweden had answered from atop the sofa, self-assurance coursing through his veins from the euphoria. "I bet he works all year round now to manage."

Deadlines were vanquished, meetings were cancelled, schedules turned upside down. For a month, the five did nothing but all the necessary preparations in welcoming back their hero (save for actually planning what they were going to do when he arrived), such as cleaning, re-cleaning, decorating, re-decorating, and deciding what the perfect gift to offer him would be (due to Sweden's unsaid ideas being nipped in the bud by anyone who happened to have a louder voice at that time, Finland switching from one choice to another, Norway self-confessed lack of skill in the said area, Iceland's ridiculously high standards and Denmark's outrageous ideas, they reached their final decision at last on the twenty-third and spent the whole day constructing it from scratch – an intricate snow globe that featured its receiver and his grandchildren, still boys, on Christmas morning). The whole time had been composed of nothing but eager anticipation, and everyone had skipped through the halls of their homes at least twice after making sure no one was looking, humming or hollering carols for the whole world to hear just to vent some of their enthusiasm off.

Because being full-grown adults did not change the fact that they knew how to _live _and see the beauty of things in such a harsh reality because of Father Christmas. They were still alive mainly because of him, not because he'd acted like an ever-present parent, but because through every year of oppression and war, he had given them a reason to keep surviving no matter what, so that for nearly a month of bliss they may selfishly gobble up as much contented happiness and love that their little hearts could muster to get through yet another year of darkness and very little light. Their essences thrived on the care and sense of worth their grandfather had first instilled upon them, their survival grateful to the resourcefulness and endurance he so unobtrusively taught them. This was more than enough reasons for them to love him with all their hearts and making him breakfast yesterday would have been the least they could do for him now that they old enough to thank him properly.

They were all expectant, all hopeful to be reunited once again with their one guardian and what had been their biggest, perhaps only sense of security and hope as children. Sweden swallowed thickly when he realized he was going to have to deal with the looks on his friends' faces when he told them the news: the shock, the confusion, maybe anger and then pure, crippling devastation and sorrow on his family's faces…

Sweden cursed, his heart joining the tantrum his head was throwing over the anxiety. He wasn't going to just stand by and watch them break their hearts… was he?

It took him only a split-second to decide and the most silent Nordic released a shuddering exhale, adjusted his glasses and made up his mind. He would need that reason why he had risen from bed in the first place before carrying out his plan. Looking down on the precious article of clothing in his hand, he could only hope that the alcohol's effects would keep his friends unconscious a little longer…

* * *

"Damn you to the moon and back, Anko. Heck, damn you to the sun and never back, that's better." A pathetic whimper was the only reply to meet Norway's deep tremors of rage bursting at the seams.

The two shortest unspeaking Nordics sucked their ice water in quicker, silently thanking whoever it was who left the tray of four sippy cups full of mountain fluid, a pitcher for refills, aspirin, and four deep basins on a tray within their reach on the carpet. "Why didn't you stop me from going too far, Norge, dammit," Denmark mumbled, choking as he tried to drink his water on his aching back.

"Please stop talking," Iceland implored, forcing down his second pill of painkiller when the first failed to show immediate results. "Anything louder than the dust in the air is making my head spin." Finland inhaled deeply and let his face dive unto his own bowl. "This is the worst Christmas morning ever," he gasped upon resurfacing.

"I know," Denmark coughed out, shivering from the water that had soaked through his turtleneck collar. All pain suddenly forgotten, everybody bore unto him the steeliest (slightly crossed-eyed) glares they could muster. He looked like he was seconds away from actual tears. "I'm sorry everyone." He slunk back to the confines of his blanket, but had to plunge back into the open when the sludge of acid the back of his mouth was quietly fighting to suppress won. Everyone shared a groan. "You could kill me in the most brutal way possible now, Norway," Denmark managed to push away his basin and wipe his lips with the back of his hand. The other that had been keeping him off the floor all this time slid beyond control and dropped side of his head on his sleeping bag with a dismal _thud_. "I won't complain. I swear. I'll keep mouth shut the whole… time."

"I don't have the strength," muttered Norway irritably, scrubbing the surface of a bleary eye with a finger, barrette askew. "and I need to go pee."

He crumpled upwards in a pace that suggested gravity itself had complaints on being defied by all of the man that wasn't his feet. One wobbling step after the other, the others watched him make his way to the hall that led to the bathroom, lethargically holding their breaths when he stumbled and almost tripped or had to lean against the wall and was quite far from it. When he disappeared around the doorway, Iceland glared at Denmark. "Would you like to go quick, or should I tell my brother to let his trolls have their fun first?"

"I want _baaarf _slow," was the answer. "Slow and steady so I could… savor the… pain." He like sighed it was the last thing he'll ever do, too depressed to notice the air was laden with the scents of something sizzling, warm and homey. "I'll see you all in hell, everyone, if this ain't already it-"

"_GRANDFATHER!_"

Neck bones crackled to face where Norway's ecstatic cry came from. "Oh _shit_," said Finland slowly.

"Everybody hide your used bowls under the sofa!" Denmark shouted out a whisper, jumping up and panicking all over the living room like he wasn't almost completely paralyzed by pain mere seconds. "When he asks why we smell like we've been drinking, we tell him Hanatamago broke into the cellars without us knowing and then started licking our faces, okay?!"

"Grandfather?" Iceland whispered, eyes wide and arms trembling, pushing himself up on his knees. "Grandfather's here?" Finland, now on all fours and his usually smooth hair disheveled, only grabbed the plastic bottle for their medicine, jerked the opening to his palm, pressed the said palm against his mouth and tried to down at least 17 pills with just one gulp of water.

He ended up spitting it all out at the sight of red by the door.

"_GRANDFATHER!_"

And the living room was a flurry of flailing limbs that threw themselves at the tall man clad in red and white standing with a silently weeping Norway; his long silver beard cushioned their crash against him and tears of joy were shed as he wrapped them up again for the first time in a thousand years or so.

"My children," his voice rumbled deep as they clung to him, ignoring the fact that their heads no longer rested on his pillow-like stomach like before, that they technically no longer fitted around him, knowing only that they were children again, children starved and gluttonous for their grandfather's presence and love. "My children, I've missed you."

"We missed you too, Grandfather," was their automatic reply.

"I missed you more than any of them," came a muffled voice that could belong to anybody.

"I missed you more than all of them combined."

"I missed you _twice_ of all of them combined!"

"I missed you more than two hundred times of twice of all of them combined!"

"And I," said Santa, adjusting himself so that he had all of them in his arms. "missed all of you so much that I nearly died twice just thinking about you four." They laughed at this shortly before choking on their tears.

They stood as they were for a full minute, emptying their eyes of emotional water and savoring the warmth of their embrace. When that was over at last, Finland, chubby cheeks damp, raised his head and said, "Grandfather, you've grown real tall. You're taller even than Ta-san."

"Yes, Finland," was the smiling answer. "It is part of the Old Rules that I will seem bigger to you as you grow bigger, remember?"

"Yes sir," said his shortest grandson, beaming ear to ear. "I remember and I'm so glad we could finally get to see that it for ourselves!"

"But Grandfather," Iceland observed, "your belly's grown smaller too. They aren't starving you in your new house, are they?"

A short silence. Then, "No, my child. I've been… exercising."

"Exercising?"

"Yes. They have a… full set of gym equipment back in the North Pole."

"Really? That's so cool, Grandfather!" cheered Denmark. "I bet you totally rock all of them, dontcha sir?"

"…Yes, I do, Denmark."

"But they aren't _forcing _you to use them, are they?" asked Norway, his face the epitome of dread. "'Cause if they are, I could take my trolls to their houses and kill them if you want."

Everyone burst out laughing at this until he gave them all a stern look and said, "I'm serious."

"There is no need for that, Norway," the eldest of their group answered. "They are in no way maltreating me. I am fine."

"You look so much younger too, Grandfather," Iceland took in by the lines on his face. "Say, your wrinkles are hardly visible, sir! Is this also part of the Old Rules too?"

Another short bout of silence. "Ye… no."

"Sir?"

"No. It isn't… part of the Old Rules."

They stared up at him expectantly.

"That's just because… you are no longer young as you used to be. So I do not look as old as I once did." He said that very slowly as if unsure of himself, but they paid the fact no heed: although he didn't look it much anymore, Santa Claus was still a very old man after all.

"Of course," Iceland nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Why didn't we think of that?"

"Say, where's Su-san?" Finland pulled his head away and looked around. "He should be here with us too! I'll go get him,"

"There's no need for that, my child," Santa said immediately, gently tightening his hold on Finland to prevent him from leaving. "We have been, uh, able to spend time together before you awoke. He is sleeping in the room you've provided him with now."

"What a killjoy," remarked Denmark. "It's so rare for us to get together like this. He should've at least waited for us before going to bed."

"Well, alcohol doesn't sit very well with him, Denmark."

There wasn't a change in Santa's tone or expression as he looked down on his oldest junior. Nobody looked at Denmark as he shrunk. "I'm sorry, sir," he muttered at the man's buckled black boots, never more ashamed of himself than now. "I _really _didn't mean to take things so far last night. You see I-" He cut himself off. "That was a very irresponsible thing to do. I'm sorry."

"I know you are," said Santa a bit gravely. "And I am glad you have stopped making excuses, like when you used to steal those carrots from Sweden's plate when he wasn't looking when we… were all younger." The other three Nordics sniggered in remembrance but immediately stilled themselves. They were all quite sure it was meant to make the guilty one crack a smile but he didn't seem to think the same. Finally, Santa said, "Let us leave last night behind us, it could no longer do any harm. Now, I believe you are supposed to ask me a question," he finished, rumpling Denmark's already messy hair.

They looked up at him until they realized what he meant with the help of the twinkle in his eyes. They giggled like they were still little boys. "What did you get us this year?" Denmark asked eagerly, heart pounding with joy over knowing he was fully forgiven.

Santa gave them a deep chuckle that struck a lovely chord of remembrance in their hearts. "That's a secret," he told Denmark, rumpling his already messy hair. They would have burst out laughing at this, but the skit wasn't over yet.

"I don't like secrets…" Iceland made the classic pout everyone thought adorable he'd had always used to respond to these three words with. Norway started to snicker but Finland playfully swatted his arm, fighting back his own fits of laughter. "…or waiting. Please don't tell us we need to wait longer, Grandfather."

"I'm afraid I must, child. Breakfast is ready and waiting."

They exchanged looks, every once of pending laughter dead inside them.

"Is something wrong, boys?" Santa asked worriedly.

"Well," Finland began. Denmark fidgeted and his three companions found it incredibly difficult to look at him. "We should have been the ones to make you breakfast, sir…"

"Oh, but that isn't part of tradition at all, is it?" Santa lightly jested. When they still couldn't look him in the eye, he gave them warm pats on the shoulders. "Do not feel guilty, my sons. It is an honor to still be able to serve you even in little ways such as this."

"B-but Santa, Grandfather," Norway protested, "it's us who should be serving you now that grown enough to do it!"

The old man only shook his head. "You may think yourselves old," he said warmly, "but in my eyes, you will always be the little boys I sat on my lap and hummed to sleep on that old rocking chair by the fire after a long, tiring day."

They gaze at him gratefully before burying their faces into his coat again, hearts overwhelmed with his love as they squeezed themselves tighter to him; he wordlessly held them close in return and they would have broken down again if he didn't intervene with a well-timed "Come now, children. The food's getting cold and we wouldn't want that on this fine Christmas morning. "

They marched hand-in-hand after recovering to the dining room where the heavenly scents of their childhood Christmas morning overwhelmed them with nostalgia that lasted until they saw what lay on the table. Nobody commented on how, along with the usual assortment of jams and different spreads, pitchers of warmed reindeer's milk, hot chocolate, coffee, tea and cold juice, each dish, platter and bowl contained something Swedish instead of the usual blend of breakfast bits from each of the five countries. Still, it smelled like a scrumptious feast – everyone knows that Santa could cook as well as any mother from any part of the world does her native dish – and they settled down very quickly, more than willing to begin. After prayer, a toast, the first few bites of food and the well-earned compliments that naturally went with it, silence painfully stretched to last amongst them, the sounds of their cutlery and chewing only reinforcing the awkwardness in the air. Now that they were supposed to have a conversation – a _real _one – no one failed to notice how their grandfather shared the same expression they were sure were on their faces – unease.

_Maybe he's just tired,_ thought Iceland.

_Maybe he's disappointed in us somehow,_ thought Norway.

_Maybe he feels awkward because we just aren't kids anymore, _thought Finland.

_Maybe he's sick to the stomach or something, _thought Denmark. "Ne, Grandfather?"

"Yes, Denmark?" oddly sounding grateful.

"Are you-? I don't mean to be rude or anything, sir, but… are you feeling sick sir?"

Finland was already on his feet even before Denmark finished talking, very nearly sending the sugar bowl to its shattered doom as he rose. "Sir, I've got all sorts of remedies in the medicine cabinet, just tell me what you need-"

"No, no, that won't be necessary w- son," Santa was quick to reply. He eyed Denmark over a teapot. "No, my child, I am not sick. Why do you ask?"

"N-Nothing, sir." Denmark cheeks were red as he looked down at his buttered _sirapslimpa_. "Just your, uh, expression." Everyone else stared at Denmark with wide eyes that screamed _shut the fucking hell up **now**_.

"What's wrong with it?" The same set of eyes, this time really quivering with fear in their sockets, slid over to the speaker and were surprised with what they found. The tone their grandfather had used on Denmark and his expression now wasn't angry or reprimanding: it was _blank _– or better yet, unreadable – with just a hint of something that reminded them of being… _terrified_?

"W-well," Denmark tiptoed deeper into dangerous territory, knowing full well he was breaching some unspoken sacred code of conduct none of them were fully aware of until now. "you seem to look like- like you have a, er- stoma-"

"Sir, I just realized you wear the same brand of glasses as Sweden does," Norway boldly jeopardized his soul for his best friend's sake as Finland narrowly stopped Denmark from unconsciously pouring hot chocolate into a platter of open sandwiches. Iceland felt a trembling, squeezing grip grab his right hand currently resting on his lap, asking for support or at least Iceland's presence as his brother faced what looked to be his end. "Do you," his older brother swallowed, "go to the same optometrist, sir?"

Santa slowly faced him, face still indecipherable. "No," he said at last, teeth together behind lips his long grey beard covered. "I am supplied with spectacles by a sponsor in the Artic. It is probably just a lucky coincidence, Norway."

Iceland, realizing for the first time that the old man _was _wearing glasses and forgetting everything from genuine worry over this, gulped down his roll and asked "Did you start using glasses because of the billions of children's records you have to read every year, sir? Or are you just lacking in Vitamin A because of all the trash they force feed y- of the limited diet you have at the North Pole?"

Santa looked at Iceland like he was the most beautiful thing to ever exist then let out a hearty laugh that echoed of relief at the back of their minds and the air alike. "No, my son," he answered, and all shoulders slumped. "It is for the former that I now wear glasses. My eyes have adjusted to reading things up close so I now need help in seeing things from afar."

("Birth control," mumbled Iceland to the shaking fist on his lap, gnashing his teeth. "More laws, more laws, less children… One child per family policy?")

And that encouraging reply broke the dam of questions within them.

"Sir," Finland asked shyly, eagerly, "is it true that you are now married?"

Everyone watched carefully as Santa deliberately choked on his coffee. "No," he spluttered through a hacking cough that didn't sound so ancient. "C-commercialization. My heart is already tak- not married."

"I'm glad," sighed Iceland, nodding and blushing. "I hate to think Grandfather thinks of someone else other than us."

"Sir," asked Norway, "what about your reindeers? They were replaced by magical ones quite a long while back, weren't they?"

"Yes, they've been replaced," was the answer. "The roads are all too congested with people even on Christmas eve and this is no longer the only continent I must serve. But I've kept Frikadelle, Pannkaka, Multe and Nauris with me in Artic to keep me company and remind of you five. They all miss you very much as well."

Denmark, Norway and Finland grinned at each other. Along with Sweden, they had been the ones to name Santa's sleigh's original pullers, four disabled baby reindeers abandoned by their herd whom Santa had rescued from freezing and raised back to health with the help of the five and eventually used to pull his sleigh with. (Iceland, too young to not have troubles with speaking coherently at that time, had not been a part of the naming).

"Sir," Finland asked, "have the reindeer been stabled and fed? If not yet, I could go fix them up."

"Me too," Denmark rose next to the shorter man, eager to redeem himself. "Let's go take care of them, Finland."

"That would not be necessary, Finland, Denmark," was the hasty reply. "Do sit down and finish your breakfast."

"Oh, have you done it already sir?"

Santa gave them that look he had given Denmark earlier. "I… didn't… bring them."

"You didn't sir? But how did you get here, sir?"

"Yes. They tend to get tired after these trips around the world"

Silence met his words. He blinked at them once. Twice. Then, "I used a little bit of magic."

"Of course you did, Grandfather." Awe dripped from Iceland's voice and expression, awe that disappeared when he shot a quick, nasty look at his comrades that accused them of being disbelievers of the painfully obvious. "And you're using it to get home too, aren't you, sir?"

"Sir, I could arrange for one of my private planes to take you to the Artic," Finland said immediately. "Please do not strain yourself. In fact, I could go phone a pilot now."

Santa attempted a chuckle and sat his excitable grandson down again. "An aircraft ride just to get home would not be necessary. A walk in the countryside before I leave is just what I need, if you do not mind. And do not worry of me being tired, this old hermit has a lot more spunk left within him than you'd realize."

They laughed and the matter was dropped. No one saw or noticed the speaker release a what seemed to be a long suppressed sigh of relief.

"But come now, let us not talk of me leaving just yet," he said. "The day is just beginning and there is much time left before I must disappear. Let us talk about you boys. How fare your lives as nation?"

Let us not intrude on the rest of the happy reunion, in which most of the confessions made were a little awkward, most of the silence between the speeches a little strained but in which all the remaining moments – reassurances and words of comfort – were composed of contentment, and the stillest, most unobtrusive form of sheer joy. Let us not discuss how difficult the four Nordics found it to finally rise from dining table and march gloomily to the front door after firmly arguing that they would be the ones to bus and wash the dishes as per tradition. Let us leave out the cheery-faced demands for promises that hid struggles to contain tears, all of which were confirmed with the same forced smile. Let us return instead after the final embraces and drawn out goodbyes exchanged by grandfather and grandchildren, too intimate to be discussed or known of here.

"Time has changed him so much," said Finland under the living room's open doorway softly and, in another time and place, perhaps sadly.

"The world too," said Norway with equal volume as the last sound of footsteps crunching through the snow melted into the winter air. "Or maybe it's us who've changed."

"We all have," said Denmark lowering at last his hand raised in farewell even though they've lost sight of the old man's red cap quite some time ago. "Nothing ever stays the same."

Norway clutched his younger brother, who was going to press against him anyway, by instinct. This cued the rest of them to huddle closer against a sort of chill the skin couldn't feel.

"But the most important things will, though," whispered Iceland after some time. "No matter what."

_How could you be so sure?_

Iceland returned everyone's gazes then looked away again. He shrugged. "I just am." And somehow this lifts the weight on their chests elsewhere to where they couldn't care any less for.

They stood at the door a little longer, savoring the afterimages playing in their head, breathing slow and deep and at peace. "Gosh," Finland finally decided to kill the silence. "Now that the high's all gone, I feel like swallowing a whole bottle of pain pills again. Shall we all take a nap 'til lunchtime then fix the house up?"

The remaining three inclined their heads in the right direction to agree; they closed the door and dragged their feet to their respective rooms while bidding each other a good nap, Denmark still apologizing, Norway, Iceland and Finland cheerily dismissing him with different sets of words.

None of their final thoughts before floating off into oblivion involved the one absent during their farewell at the door.

…

One hour later, while everyone in Finland's house snuggled deep into their respective restorative slumbers, a tall, silent figure pushed open the backdoor of the kitchen and leaned on it shut, sighing deeply as if savoring the sudden warmth. Only a white dog and a black bird witnessed the figure, out of breath and with shaky, walk worn legs, pull out a chair, wipe his brow, then take off his spectacles that were exactly like Sweden's and begin to polish them with a red hat exactly like Santa Claus'.

* * *

"You know Hanatamago," Finland mused to his dog when he woke up later, pensively fingering the blunt set of wooden antlers of the headband on her head, the smaller part of the two-piece reindeer costume set Sweden made for her for that year. They were sitting on his bed with the empty tray of Denmark's formal apology (lunch) lying an arm's reach away from them. "I have a strange feeling that I'm missing out on a day in my life. Like I overslept a lot longer than usual."

Hanatamago gave him a look that reminded him of that stage in her potty training days when she already knew where she was supposed to do her business but only ever remembered right after doing it elsewhere. Finland absentmindedly traced the intricate metal beadwork on his gift to her (a leather dog collar he made and designed after the average female's _Gakti_).

"Oh well," he concluded at last, giving some final adjustments to the sparkling band's placement on her neck. "That must just be the last of the alcohol speaking, right?" The dog was more than enthusiastic in her reply, barking nonstop and wagging her tail so fast, it was the perfect definition of a blur.

…

"Sweden. I'd like a word."

Sweden stopped in his tracks and instinctively tucked the paper bag in his grasp behind him, looking around for a while before locating the half-closed door behind him to his right. Norway looked at him intently, pushed the wooden panel a little wider to survey the hall the older man was traversing and signaled Sweden to come into the room with him. Perplexed, Sweden acquiesced, wondering what it was Norway would want from him and why they had to converse in private.

Norway's senior felt his stomach slide down to the insides of his toes when his companion shut the door. He shook his head and chided himself. He was being ridiculously paranoid! There really was no reason for Norway to have the kind of conversations usually held in settings like this with him on Christmas day of all days. Maybe he was just going to request something embarrassing from Sweden, like getting him to also take a shot at getting Iceland to use that old title of fondness on him while the day still lasted. He shouldn't be worried. Really.

Unless… "My trolls told me everything," said Norway, staring him squarely in the eye.

It took Sweden his all to not let out a shriek and blink in mock confusion instead, his stomach and lungs already halfway across the center of the earth. "They did?" _Gods in heaven and hell, if you let me get away with this I'll never force Finland to marry me aga-_

"On how we woke up yesterday but started drinking again. On Christmas day. They told me that when you got up this morning, uh, Hanatamago told you so you know too. But that just might be their little joke or something."

_-fuck._ Hoping his shaking and the cracks in his calm façade didn't show, Sweden held his breath, steeling himself for the incoming outrage he knew was enough to break him.

"It was nice of Santa to still stop by to see us this morning regardless, though."

_Gods in heaven and hell, I'll never force Finland to marry me again._ "Wh-what?"

"Have you forgotten already?" asked Norway, raising his face again with a light smile. "He stopped by this morning and even prepared breakfast for us. He told us you'd already gone to bed but that you two had gotten around to talking before we woke up so we let you sleep on in your room."

Sweden stared at the blonde a little longer with his heart pulsing in his ears, hardly believing his cover hadn't been blown over, that nobody knew what he had done, that in their eyes it really was Santa Claus who had stayed with them for breakfast. Then he completely closed his mouth, cleared his throat and said, "No. I haven't forgotten."

"Of course you haven't," said his golden-haired companion, upturned mouth stretching slightly higher. "Anyway, I just think we shouldn't let anyone else know about this, Sweden. To me, a visit from Grandfather on Boxing Day is much better than Christmas morning without him, but I want today to be perfect for everyone else. It wouldn't matter by the time they found out-"

"-aying the fine layer of dust you'll find on today's date is perfectly natural, in case you've never tired it yet. That's all," squawked a rough voice traveling up the hall they were in.

"Why would I do something as run my hand over a calendar page?" the voice's owner's owner's voice answered. It called out, "Oniichan! Where are you? Denmark said we're gonna go sledding in half an hour!"

"…if they ever find out at all." Norway beamed at the direction of Iceland's voice. He fastened his eyes on the door a little longer then turned back to Sweden. "We wouldn't want to spoil this perfectly perfect day, would we?"

"No," was Sweden's honest reply. "We don't."

…

The blank space Norway left behind him was filled in by a yipping thing in a miniature of Sweden's gift to Sealand, whom France had insisted on keeping for the holidays so that he might "get a little closer" to his "bestfriend's" youngest brother, possibly to undermine some of his bushy-browed rival's more lethal secrets, much to the boy's delight. (Sweden had agreed but secretly slipped his adopted son a fully-loaded revolver and an extra pack of bullets before sending him off – just in case something… _indecent_ went bump in his room in the middle of the night.)

"What a pretty girl," he murmured to Hanatamago, kneeling to accommodate her on his lap and pulling off her fake antlers to pat her on the head. He admired the collar Finland undoubtedly made for her as she licked every part of him that she could reach. "Where have you been all day?"

She stopped all movements and leaned back to eerily stare into his face. Somehow, Sweden found himself remembering that hangover-induced delusion he had earlier this morning where she told him Santa'd passed them by and that she'd been nice enough to clean up the mess they made before passing out again. Shaking his head a little at himself, he reminded himself to never take a single sip of alcohol with Denmark within a two mile radius

He paused in putting Hanatamago's headband back on. If earlier today had been an illusion… then how did he come to know the information that Santa had passed them by in the first place?

He looked down at the dog would always remain a puppy in his eyes, fingers relishing the feel of her fur from under her chin. Maybe… maybe he did have a memory of the second round from yesterday earlier this morning, maybe he himself had cleaned up their mess in the living room. Maybe back then the emotional and physical pain he had to endure was too intense so that everytime he tried to recall the moments now, his brain supplied him with a talking Hanatamago to block out hurt. Yes, he confirmed to himself while putting her headgear back on, that was probably about right. It had to be. She wasn't magical like Mr. Puffin, who wasn't even an actual puffin, after all. She was just an ordinary dog – intelligent, yes, but ordinary.

She pulled away from his grasp, raced a couple meters away from him, then faced him and sat on the floor, her aura the epitome of gentle scorn. Sweden tried closing the gap between them, but she kept avoiding him until he finally settled for staring at her in confusion, noting how she'd never before behaved in this way.

She barked, "_Hau, hau, hau!_" at him, her tone friendly, not offensive. Sweden couldn't help but feel the quivers of nostalgia tugging at the back of his mind somehow…

He could have been sworn that the dog knowingly _winked _at him before scampering out the corridor, her faux reindeer's tail dancing in the air with her own fluffy white one.

…

"Psst."

At least an hour deep into his garbled, mystified thoughts, Sweden was jerked back down to reality with what he first thought was a choked whistle. "Mr. Puffin." "That's me." The bird's red and green striped bowtie slightly reflected against his black beady eyes that were currently staring up at Sweden's blue-green bespectacled ones.

Sweden looked at the bird, and the bird looked at Sweden. Suddenly, everything clicked. "That thing at the hallway- Norway's trolls-"

"Yup," Mr. Puffin interrupted, his small white winter vest jiggling as he shook his feathers. His tone wasn't as rough as usual. "Can't stand to see my boss sad. And his snarky older brother too. Sure they could be annoying sometimes – in fact, all of you could be when you put your mind to it," he added carelessly. "But he's family. And in that effect, _he's _family too. And in _that_ effect, well, you're all family as well. And you're supposed to make your family happy." He looked at Sweden long with his head tilted to the side, trying discern any reaction from him. When he found none obvious, he did what a human might call a shrug. "At the end of the day, that's all that counts, after all."

Sweden looked up and down the corridor, straining his ears for the slightest sign of an intruder. Detecting none, he plunged a hand into the paper bag he carried and produced their one unconsumed bottle of alcohol (Russia's strongest brand of vodka, but without the cheerful five-faceted death threat on the card tied around the neck with the ribbon that currently sat crumpled in Sweden's pocket). "I think," he told the bird as he handed him the bottle, "you _are_ the cutest bird to ever exist, Mr. Puffin. Merry Christmas. And make sure you share this with Norway's trolls when you see them."

* * *

"EVERYBODY! SANTA'S GOT US SOMETHING!"

Four pairs of feet rapidly pounded the floorboards from different parts of the house to the direction of Denmark's voice. It led them outside into Finland's stable where on the middle of the floor was the largest present they have ever seen, like someone had taken a smallish door of its hinges and decided to cover it wrapping paper and top it with a bow.

"No wonder there was nothing under the tree!" exclaimed Iceland, crouching down to peer at the gift but not touch it, sounding close to tears. "I _knew _he'd leave us something, I just knew it!"

Norway leapt forward and carefully plucked the card on top off its evergreen surface. His hands were trembling with excitement as he read, "'I hope you are not yet too old for this boys. Merry Christmas.'" He took a look at the others who were now also examining the extra large package with Iceland. "I wish we could tell him face to face that we'll never grow too old for his gifts. But I wonder what it could be."

"Well," asked Finland, an uncharacteristically immature look dominating his face. "what are we waiting for?"

Torn bits of wrapping paper peppered the floor like confetti after the ribbon that ran around the present's middle had been carefully undone and extracted. They'd grin sheepishly when their eyes found each others', embarrassed with what they were doing, but they'd look away again and keep working, following childish instincts and the sound of their own messy work. Finally, the ripped last ripped sheet was pushed aside and they all stood back to survey what lay before their eyes.

"It's a… it's a… well, it's beautiful as expected," said Finland. Which was the polite wording for _What is it?_

They circled their new oddly familiar item. Finally, Sweden said "It's a sled.

"Not one for a giant?" asked Norway, approaching their first present from Santa in a thousand years like it could bite, the sparks in his eyes from two nights ago flying. His voice was trembled. "How about a half-finished sleigh without the seats yet?"

"No." was Sweden's answer. "And not a horse drawn one, like in other countries' houses." He pointed out how its reigns were not of the right build and length to harness to animals or be dragged behind by a person of average height. "It's one for sliding down the slopes with. I'm sure of it." The first gifts their grandfather ever made and gave them were five sleds, the first they had ever seen and owned, and it was only much later on in their lives that they realized it had meant to show them that even the cruel cold of the lands they were forced to endure forever could be a source of happiness no matter how temporary. Sweden was sure that it was no coincidence that he should give them the same item now, but he couldn't understand why its form seemed so impractical. And then, as a kneeling Norway smoothed a loving hand over its entire length, Sweden knew the answer. "It could seat all five of us – two side by side, three rows. See, it's only a little shorter than Norway is."

"Wouldn't that be dangerous?" asked Finland, tracing a mitten-clad hand over one of the sled's runners. "To weigh down and drive something so long and wide down a slope?"

"Come now," said Iceland, knocking on the varnished, vertically aligned planks of sturdy pine. Proudly, he stated "The Toymaker – our _grandfather_ – made this for us. I don't think it's even remotely possible for us to get hurt while using it." Inspired by the notion, he propped the contraption up as if wishing to find traces of a spell on its underside. "I bet he's put some magic in here to keep us from falling off and crashing into stuff."

"Only one way to find out, is there?" asked Denmark tearing his eyes from the delicate paintwork of the whole structure in general: colors of winter and just the right amounts of greens and pinks and yellows to remind them of the incoming spring.

"Hang on… there's a note here," Finland snatched the little card on the ground that no one had noticed before. "it's says… 'I am proud of you, Sweden.' Eh?" He held it up for everyone to see. "Why, Su-san? Did you help him make this or something?"

"No," said Sweden truthfully, halting his inspection of the sled's weight. Like the others, he hadn't expected a present from Santa Claus this year (they were adults after all and no nations were ever "good" or "bad" in a normal person's terms) and his preparation time earlier today had certainly not allowed for him to create impromptu gifts for all five of them. He had no idea why he would be singled out in a way that was so obvious to everybody and what the magician was proud of him for… but when he descended from his thoughts enough to feel that he had his Santa cap he'd been wearing only a few hours ago in the confines of his deeply pocketed right fingers, he thought that perhaps it was the only way Santa could have let him know.

"…den? You're coming with us aren't you?"

He blinked down at Norway, the pride in his heart pulsing through his whole body and prompting him to squint and block out the joy threatening to materialize out of his eyes. "What?"

"You should join us for the test drive, Sve!" encouraged Iceland. "It's for all of us after all."

"It ain't the Nordic Five with just four of us, ya know – unless you're busy with something?" Denmark ended as a question.

They peered up at him with worried faces and he realized his own was screwed up tight – too tight. He took his glasses off have an instant excuse to hide the lone tear that managed to free itself when he relaxed his expression, head bowed as he wiped his spectacles on his outermost sweater.

"Nothing, nothing's wrong. Just- glad we're all-" He sniffed dryly. "Just glad." He had meant to say "got something in my eye," but was happy his tongue had thought otherwise. He put his glasses back on to see their astounded, wondrous faces.

He thought he might think of them all as beautiful if their eyes weren't directed at him; it was not an unpleasant sensation, but it most definitely was awkward.

Slowly, Finland asked "What did you and Grandfather talk about earlier, Su-san?" with light caution and a soft tone.

Sweden blinked, opened his mouth then swallowed. What was he supposed to say to that? His brain, so capable of producing lies mere hours ago, had for some reason chosen now of all times to come to a standstill. "I- well, we talked about-"

What? What could he and Father Christmas have been talking about if the old man did come to him before any of his other ex-underlings awoke? _They're asking you why you're behaving this way, _Sweden's inner voice tried to simplify matters for him. _What is it that caused this change in you?_

"Svergie?" Someone waved a hand in front of his eyes. "You okay, man? You don't need to tell us if you don't want to."

Sweden jumped a little at Denmark's voice, which he on his own registered as a prompt to hurry up and give them and answer.

He was different because it was Christmas afternoon, or so he liked to believe himself. He was different because Santa really _had _been here. He was different because morning Sweden's ever had: he used Finland's kitchen like they were already married (he felt his cheeks go red at the thought), lifted Norway off the floor like he was a little boy when he rushed at him this morning, punished Denmark for getting them all drunk in the gentlest way possible, actually _laughed _just because he _felt like it _over something Iceland said (although that might have been more out of relief than humor), kissed the most important people in his life on their foreheads before going on an hour long walk to make sure they were asleep by the time he returned home to them. He was different because today he had been confident, flustered at times, but overall assured that he wouldn't discomfort his friends, and that if something went wrong, he could fix it, and not at the expense of their embarrassment either. That he could show them how much they meant to him without making them feel the opposite.

No, he hadn't been able to have the much-wanted reunion his grandfather he'd waited for for so long, but he was starting to think that perhaps getting drunk yesterday and the night before had been an actual intention of the grand scheme of things.

For a moment, his heart was a surge of hurt as his head reasoned that Finland, Denmark, Norway and Iceland were only looking at him the way now because he was being their grandfather without their knowledge.

But no. He was in his regular layers of holiday-themed sweaters and woolen pants, none of which are red, his face was clear of drawn wrinkles and his costume was at the bottom of his overnight bag as were silver wig and fake beard set he nicked from Finland's room. His hat, the one exactly like Santa's, was in his hand, not on his head, and the smiles his friends gave him now were real, and they were giving it to him because he was _Sweden_.

"You… know what we've talked about." He looked around at them. "Don't you?"

They just looked at each other, smiled as if they knew something good about him that he didn't, then looked back at him.

"Shall we all go sledding together, Su-san?" Finland asked, handing him the little card that came with their gift. Sweden took it, read the archaic, black ink on the parchment-like material, felt its magic sparking slightly at the tips of his fingers.

_I'm proud of you, Sweden. _He felt his heart flutter as he read each letter, as if an old, withered, soft, warm hand was patting him on the head, rumpling his hair. He felt proud of himself too. He looked up at his friends; the sight of them filled him with proud sort of pleasure too.

It was the best feeling, he realized, seeing all those he loved happy because of him.

"Yes," Sweden told his family at last, clutching his grandfather's hat in his pocket and placing those precious five words into the breast pocket over his heart. "Yes, I would like that."

_fin_

* * *

[_Of course Hanatamago barks in Finnish what did you expect._]

No, the Nordic Five that isn't Sweden isn't stupid. The power of placebo is a very real thing especially if you're really willing or desperate for things to happen in your favor.

I absolutely adore my headcanon of Santa being the Nordics' actual grandfather, historical technicalities be damned. [And whaddayamean Sweden sorta reminds you of Squidward here.]

The drinking game is lightly based on Roald Dahl's family's Christmas drinking tradition as told in **_Boy: Tales of Childhood_**.

Sweden's romantic-ies here are for comedic purposes only. I don't actually ship him with Finland though their interactions are kawaii as fvck.

The 'Old Rule' where Santa appears to grow bigger as you age is based on what Aslan told Lucy in **_The Chronicles of Narnia, Book the Fourth:Prince Caspian_**. I think it is brilliant, lovely thing for this to apply to Father Christmas as well. (Rin, when you grow older, you will understand.)

That and it's been scientifically proven (not) that everyone's much more laidback and sentimental on December 24 to 25 so it's totes okay for Sweden, Norway and Iceland to smile during the said time, okay?!

**Vocabulary Words and Phrases**:

Lion of Scandinavia – one of Sweden's actual nicknames (as an actual country – you know, the one with people in it)

_dum hoveder _– Danish for 'stupid heads' [I'm unsure if this is an actual Danish insult, it's just a literal translation of the English words]

_Akkevit_ – Norse term for _Akvavit/Aquavit_, a Scandinavian spiced spirit

_Brennivin_ – clear, unsweetened schnapps; the signature distilled beverage of Iceland

_salmiakki_– salty black licorice; may also refer to the flavor, such as _salmiakki_ ice cream

winegums – colorful non-alcoholic gummies popular in Denmark during Christmas

_glogg_– Finnish Christmas mulled wine

_Huvud, axlar, knän och tår, knan och tar_ – Swedish for 'Head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes'. In the English translation, the 'And eyes and ears and mouth and nose' part goes, 'Eyes, ears, the chin will receive the pat'

'goats of Yuletide' – in pagan times, the Finnish Santa Claus was a goat named _Joulupukki_, literally 'Yule goat', a fertility symbol who originally led Odin's wagon for the winter solstice Wild Hunts (a mythological event in which Scandanavian deities form a mad hunting party to course through the skies in pursuit of various phenomena, such as the arrival of spring). [The later version of the Finnish Santa Claus, this time an old, gift-giving man who is basically the Finnish version of the legendary St. Nicholas, is active in modern times and the character I used for this story]

_Pá mér klær, þarf ég að klóra mér_– Icelandic proverb literally meaning 'If there is an itch, I must scratch it.' Equivalent to the English's 'If the shoe fits, wear it.'

_Faen_– Norwegian for 'damn it'

_knack_– hard Swedish toffee meant for sucking, not chewing; eaten by children during Christmas

_Tanska_ – Finnish word for 'Denmark'. 'Ta-san', Finland's canon nickname for Denmark, is a shortened version of 'Tanska-san' or 'Mr. Denmark'

_Min Gud_– 'My God,' in Swedish

_Bra Gud_– 'Good god' in Swedish ('Diyoskopo' in Filipino)

Mt. Korvantonturi– an actual mountain in the village of Savouski in Lapland (Northern Finland) where Santa Claus lives in Finnish mythology

_sirapslimpa_– sweet Swedish bread

Frikadelle, Pankakka, Multe and Nauris – the Finnish Santa Claus drives a sled with an uncertain number of reindeer. I used four for this story and their invented names chronologically mean 'meat ball' in Danish, 'pancake' in Swedish, 'cloudberry' in Norwegian, and 'turnip' in Finnish. I don't know why either.

_Gakti_ – Finnish traditional costume


End file.
